


Acid Tongue

by theclosetalker



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4801019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclosetalker/pseuds/theclosetalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does Gossip Girl see in S and B?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acid Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Another AU and a bit of a fun experiment.

You’re 9 the first time you see Blair – only for a fraction of a second as she barrels towards you, tackling you to the ground. You get the wind knocked out of you, as Blair straddles your waist and tells you that her maid could do a better block job than your fullback.  
  
You’re about to shoot back a nasty comment when she’s lifted off you. You stare up at the sky until a blonde head blocks your view.  
  
“Hey.” It’s Serena, Blair’s BFF, that’s reaching out for you. Her smile is blinding and, dazed, you take her hand and she pulls you up. “Sorry about that.”  
  
“I most certainly am not!” Blair shouts from behind, halfheartedly struggling against Harold’s grasp. He’s laughing, though, and you don’t think there’ll be much in the way of reprimand later.  
  
“It’s okay,” you say, as much to Serena as to Blair, while you brush the grass off your sweatshirt, “if my team was losing by 28 points, I’d have tackled me too.”  
  
You Google Blair as soon as you get home; read about her family – her father the successful lawyer, her mother the aspiring designer – and her golden boyfriend Nate Archibald. It’s all very staid, until you get to the part about her BFF Serena being the van der Woodsen shipping heiress; how her father tragically died when she was six. You’d bet your trust fund that by the time Serena hits puberty, she’ll have had more than her share of scandals, and she’ll drag Blair down with her.  
  
You set up a Google Alert for them and sit back and wait.  
  
You clear out a corner of your closet and set up the new computer you got for your 11th birthday. By the time you’re 14, your hobby (obsession?) has expanded – three monitors, a single ergonomic keyboard, and enough CPU power to run a small village. You spend those years sharpening your tongue, honing the skills – the quick wit and acuity, the ingenuity – you were blessed with.  
  
You want your humor, your commentary, to be so biting, it draws blood.  
  
After all, you’re Gossip Girl.  
  
In your first blog, Blair’s only a featured character, an afterthought in an entry devoted to Serena’s exuberant and inappropriate table dance at Bungalow. Similar instances follow and, against your better judgment, you find yourself charmed by them – by Serena, who’s so effortlessly effervescent, and the way it rubs off on the painfully prim Blair. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re no longer wishing for very public break ups or anticipating their stints in rehab, but they’ve grown on you.  
  
(Though, you’d never tell anybody that. You wouldn’t want them to think you’ve gone soft. Or gay.)  
  
One day when you’re 15 and you’ve lost track of Blair and Serena for three hours – _three hours_ that you spend panicking and wishing Gucci purses came with LoJack – you set up the GG Tip Line. It’s flooded within the first week and you realize that you’re not the only ones infatuated with these girls.  
  
You’re 16 when it occurs to you that Blair and Serena might be more than just friends. It has nothing to do with _Fried Green Tomatoes_ being on TV one night (well, not _everything_ to do with it) and more with the way that, now more than ever, they seem to be a package deal. You coin the term ‘Waldsen’ to refer to the both of them – not because it’s tedius to keep typing out ‘S and B’ but because it’s indicative of a single entity, which is what they’ve become.  
  
(And Blarena sounds like you’re vomiting.)  
  
Three months later, you’re in Bergdorf’s when you see Waldsen looking at dresses. Serena picks up a black Carolina Herrera that you’ve been eying yet could never pull off and heads for the dressing rooms. Blair follows with a suspiciously unsuitable Alexander McQueen and you grab the nearest dress, a D &G that’d completely wash you out, and make a mad dash after them. The room next to them is unoccupied and you throw the dress onto the corner chair and press your ear against the wall between you.  
  
There’s rustling and a thump and you swear – _swear_ – that you hear a moan along with it.  
  
You spend the next five years of your life _convinced_ that they’re secretly doing it. You go so far as to offer a bounty on their collective heads. You don’t know why it matters to you so much, why you’re more invested in this alleged romance than any of your own. One late night, after too many solo martinis, you wonder if you’re in love with them or if you want to be one of them or do one of them – or do both of them.  
  
(How hot. But you don’t think that’s it.)  
  
You finally decide that you just _need_ them.  
  
It’s a week before your 24th birthday and you already got exactly what you wanted three months ago. You’re not one to say ‘I told you so’ (who are you kidding? you totally are), but some faithful reader sent in a grainy cell phone picture of Waldsen kissing outside Butter and you were floored; rendered speechless (textless) for a good ten minutes. Then you sent them an e-card congratulating them on finally coming out of the closet – and pleading for someone to leak a sex tape.  
  
There’s a bouquet of flowers waiting for you on your actual birthday – a dramatic arrangement of lilies. You pick up the card and read it.  
  
_You’re not the only one with sources. Happy Birthday. You know you love us._  
  
It’s unsigned, but you’d recognize that scrawl anywhere.  
  
After all, you’re Gossip Girl.


End file.
